Hawke's Quiet Day
by The Phoenix King
Summary: After defeating the Arishok, all Hawke wanted was a quiet day to share with her lover. Unfortunately for her, Kirkwall waits for nothing, including love. F!Hawke/Merrill, with spoilers for Act II of Dragon Age II present!


_A/N: Just a quick little short story I wrote for a Valentine's Day-themed Dragon Age story contest a while back. While DAII was kinda hit and miss with me, I really loved Merrill and the relationship you could undertake with her, so here's an ode to that. As ever, any and all comments and suggestions are much appreciated. Enjoy!_

* * *

**Hawke's Quiet Day**

It was the smell of bacon that first teased Marian Hawke awake, despite her weariness; bacon sizzling and popping in the pan, the very thought of it making her stomach rumble. With it came the scent of eggs frying and bread fresh from the oven, and for one glorious moment, she thought she was back at the homestead in Lothering and everything was all right again.

But then the distant thunder brought her back to reality, and the warrior-noble tossed and turned on her luxurious four-poster bed, wincing at the aches and pains that lanced along her shoulders and collarbone. Anders had warned that her recovery would take some time; his potent healing magic and the best doctors in Kirkwall had repaired the injuries she had suffered during her duel with the Arishok, but even then, she would need time before she was fit for action. Idly, her strong pale fingers stroked the faint scar on the right side of her collarbone, a parting gift from the Qunari leader as she ran him through, a gift that nearly killed her. It was just one of many scars she'd accumulated since coming to Kirkwall over four years ago, another memento of a hard-fought struggle to both make her fortune and protect the City of Chains from all enemies. _And Maker knows, there are plenty enough of those._ Now she was the Champion of Kirkwall, proclaimed as such for liberating the city from the Qunari threat, and down in her bones, Hawke knew the road ahead would only get tougher.

Frowning at this unexpected pessimism, Hawke swung out of bed, bare feet kissing the soft fibres of the carpet. She had never been one to allow such dark feelings to distract her from doing her duty, but that was the problem. The Qunari had been defeated, the city saved, and there had been little to do in her enforced bed rest but ponder…and spend time with Merrill.

_Merrill,_ sighed Hawke, smiling blissfully at the thought of her Dalish lover. She had been her rock these past few months, anchoring her in place when the world tried its damnedest to sweep her away, always there to listen or offer a shoulder to cry on or raise her staff in Hawke's defense. In the five days since the Arishok's defeat, the elven girl had been a second shadow, always tending to her needs and offering a helping hand while she recuperated. The smile faded as Hawke's sapphire blue eyes noticed the other side of the bed was bare. "Merrill?"

The clatter of metal boomed from the kitchen, followed shortly by a musical voice cursing in Elvish. Quickly slipping on a robe, Hawke bounded downstairs, concern giving her flight. "Merrill?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, ma vhenan, I didn't mean to wake you," the elven girl said, looking up from the saucepan she had been furiously attending to with a spatula. "The pancakes seem to be sticking, that's all."

"Amongst other things," remarked Hawke, examining the kitchen in all its chaotic glory. Merrill must have used every pot and pan in the house to prepare breakfast, the waste bins filled with the charred remnants of her earlier efforts, and the wash basins piled high with blackened cookware. "Would you like some help in here?"

"Oh, no!" Merrill replied, hastily elaborating. "I mean, it's my Day of Andraste's Grace gift for you, ma vhenan. I couldn't think of what to get you, so I decided to make you a nice breakfast in bed." Swiftly scooping out the bacon before it went up in flames, the elf's wide green eyes examined her handiwork. "It just…took longer than I thought, that's all."

"Bodahn's talking with the Merchant's Guild then about my civic restoration proposal, then?" Hawke asked, silently cursing herself for a fool. She had completely forgotten about the Day of Andraste's Grace! Admittedly, any plans she might have had for the romantic holiday would have been disrupted by the Qunari attack, and her recovery, but still, she should have made an effort!

"Yes, he and Sandal left this morning, and Orana decided to go to the Chantry, to see if she could help there, so we have the house to ourselves," Merrill said, heaping the food onto plates. "They'll probably be back soon, but I did want to do something special for you. I hope it's alright."

"I'm sure it will be fine, Merrill," Hawke reassured the elven woman, kissing her on the cheek. "It was very sweet of you to do this for me, thank you."

Bashfully, Merrill turned away, a faint blush suffusing her cheeks. "Are you sure it's a good idea to be up and about, Hawke? Your wounds…"

"It'll be alright, Merrill. Anders said they're mostly healed by now; I just have to make sure I don't overexert myself. Trust me, I just want a nice, quiet day today."

"Well, how about we have our breakfast on the upstairs balcony? It's always very pretty there."

A light drizzle had begun to fall over Kirkwall, but the two remained warm and dry beneath the balcony's awnings, listening to the rain plinking against the windows and screens. Merrill might not have been a particularly confident cook, but her efforts had resulted in a meal that was filling and tasty, if a little overdone. Ravenous, Hawke dug into the spread. "If I knew you were this hungry, ma vhenen, I would have made more!" Merrill giggled while the human devoured a stack of pancakes.

"Gotta get my strength back somehow, dear," replied Hawke, slowing it down a pace before she made herself sick or her table manners descended into the truly disgusting. Besides, what did she have to hurry for? Anders might be an increasingly bitter and misanthropic apostate, but he knew his business when it came to healing, and Hawke had no intention of derailing her recovery if she could avoid it. The rest of her companions were otherwise engaged in their own business; Aveline was bringing the Guard to bear against gangs of looters trying to plunder the ravaged Lowtown, Sebastian was at the Chantry, aiding those who lost homes or family when the Qunari attacked, Varric was doubtless at the Hanged Man, spreading tales of Hawke's duel against the Arishok to any who would listen, Fenris had taken a job as a guard for a merchant caravan heading to Ostwick, and Isabela…

"What's wrong, ma vhenen?" asked Merrill, noticing the grim expression her lover bore.

"I was just wondering where Isabela was, actually," answered Hawke. "From what Aveline told me, she just up and left after the Qunari were defeated. Didn't even say goodbye. I mean, she ended up saving us all by bringing back the Tome, Merrill, she had nothing to fear from the Guard or the nobility. I- I'm just disappointed that after all that, she would leave again."

"So am I, Hawke. I'm sure Isabela will turn up eventually. Maybe she ended up getting a new ship?"

"Maybe. You know, it's funny. When the Qunari were here, they were a headache from beginning to end, but now that they're gone, I'm kinda going stir-crazy. I had something to focus on then, to keep from distract from everything else…"

"I miss Leandra too, my love. And I know that you did everything you could to help her."

"Thank you, Merrill, I know," Hawke responded sincerely. The elven girl was generally poor with social interaction, yet oddly enough, ever since the two had become lovers, she was able to read Hawke like a book. "It's just that… now I have to deal with all those things I could afford to neglect thanks to the Qunari." She paused for a moment, pursing scarlet lips. "Tell you what; would you like to come to Mother's tomb with me? I haven't really been back there since the funeral, and it would be nice to visit with a friend."

"Of course. Some fresh air might be good for you too."

"Agreed then," said Hawke, setting aside the remnants of her breakfast and strutting up to the Dalish girl with a sultry expression. "Perhaps once we get back, you could give me another massage? It definitely helped me sleep last night."

Giggling, the elf kissed her lover's cheek. "In that case, I'll see what I can do…"

* * *

Sometime later, the two left the Amell Estate under a darkened sky, cloaks drawn about them to ward off the rain. Ever-mindful of Anders' warnings, Hawke left her usual greatsword at home, instead carrying a one-handed longsword for protection. Her armour had been ruined in the battle with the Arishok, so the warrior simply travelled in a fine padded jerkin, practical if not particularly resilient. Meanwhile, Merrill was clad in the fine silverite armour Hawke had forged for her when they began courting, the mage's staff slung over her back. Locking the house behind them, the pair crossed the Square of Eagles and made their way towards Hightown's Chantry District, hands clasped affectionately.

With the Qunari crisis over, Hightown was on the road to recovery, though the markets were far less crowded and many of the streets were quiet and bare. In typical Kirkwall fashion, it was at the insistence of the nobility that Hightown became the first priority for recovery and rebuilding, Much of Lowtown had been devastated by the invaders, with hundreds of people dead and entire hexes lost, but as ever, the nobility ignored the suffering of their lesser in favour of their own selfish comfort. Even now, Hawke could hear riotous laughter bursting from some of the other estates, as Kirkwall's elite celebrated their deliverance from the Qunari with their usual hedonistic excess. "Fools," she muttered under her breath. "If they spent half the effort working to help the city as they did partying, Kirkwall would be the greatest city in Thedas. No wonder the Arishok hated it here."

"Yes, I can see how that would make him grumpy," Merrill stated, skipping through some shallow puddles. "Maybe if they had been invited to a party or two, they would have been a lot nicer?"

Hawke couldn't help but smirk at this. "Either that, or there'd be a few less nobles. I should have suggested it to the Viscount."

"Poor Viscount Dumar. He deserved better than he was given, didn't he?"

"I think you're right, Merrill," said Hawke, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "It'll be up to us to make sure something good comes out of all this."

"You're right, ma vhenen, of course," Merrill affirmed, smiling sweetly.

_How in the Maker's name do I deserve her?_ Hawke mused as the two women continued along, greeting passersby. A mutual attraction between the two have developed from the first moment they met, and in time, Hawke found herself falling deeply in love with the young mage. She was optimistic, compassionate, determined, intelligent, all traits she found attractive, and not even her use of blood magic could damper her ardour. Everything she had ever seen, read or heard about blood magic suggested that the mage in question quickly descended into madness and wanton cruelty upon accessing that power, but in many ways, Merrill was the most moral of all her companions. She tried to use her powers for the betterment of others, she did not allow the power to warp her sense of right and wrong, and Hawke loved her with an intensity that surprised even her.

Father never would have approved of such a romance, of course; he detested blood magic and any contact with demons, while Bethany had been much the same. But in Marian's mind, it was a small price to pay for being with her; Merrill had done everything possible to minimize the risks of using blood magic short of giving it up altogether, and she knew that the elf would never employ such powers for selfish gain. She was in love, and perhaps it was madness, but one she could live with.

"It's good to see you smiling, Hawke," came Merrill's voice, interrupting her reverie. "See, fresh air and exercise is good for you, even in this rain."

"Never doubted you for a second, my love," Hawke said, gently caressing her cheek. "It means a lot to me, to have you here."

"Oh, it's no problem. Leandra was a very nice lady, and I just hope I can honour her in my own little way."

"Well, I know she did respect you," the warrior-noble declared, Merrill's wide eyes growing even wider. "It's true, she held you in great esteem, once she got over the fact that I wouldn't be marrying any of the young noblemen she tried to set me up with."

"I hope she wasn't too disappointed."

"A bit, at first, but eventually she realized that my heart was yours, and that I was not the first Amell woman to ever follow its dictates. Trust me, she was-"

Whatever Hawke intended to say next was cut off by a shrill, terrified scream, loud enough to cut through the boom of thunder overhead. "It came from that alley!" Hawke shouted, immediately moving, Merrill close behind.

Heedless of the potential danger, the two women charged forward, steeling themselves for a fight. In the back of her mind, Hawke considered getting reinforcements from the City Guard, but dismissed the idea. Most of the Guard was in Lowtown, re-establishing order and security there, so the odds of finding a friendly sword to aid them were unfortunately remote. _Besides,_ Hawke mused, as a second scream tore into the air, _by the time we get some help, whoever's screaming may already be dead!_

The alley was one of the main side-streets and passages threaded between various estates throughout Hightown, mostly designed to allow servants and labourers access to their workplaces without causing a scandal by entering the front door. Quickly, Hawke identified the source of the screams; a young elven girl dressed in servant's garb bearing the heraldry of House Selbrech, crumpled at the feet of a scornful-looking templar and a half-dozen villainous looking men, all armed to the teeth. "Move along, citizen, this matter is none of your concern," the templar drawled, longsword at the ready.

"A young girl is being threatened by a pack of armed men. That makes it my concern," Hawke replied forcefully, eyes hard and cold. "Now, what has this girl done to warrant such treatment?"

"Nothing, messere!" the girl pleaded. "I haven't done-"

"Silence!" the templar roared, striking her in the face with a mailed fist. "Unbelievers like you need to learn their place!"

"Unbelievers?" inquired Hawke.

"The stench of the Qunari lingers over the city, woman," elaborated the templar, face growing red beneath a bushy black beard. "Many people, including much of the Alienage, elected to turn their back on Andraste and throw in their lot with the heathen invaders. Such heretics and turncoats cannot be permitted to live, and I believe that this girl is one of their number. To oppose us is to defy the Maker, and to suffer the same fate as her." At the feet, the girl sobbed, curled up as if to make herself too small to notice. "The Templar Order has assumed responsibility for protecting this city, and we take our responsibilities very seriously."

"Yeah, we're gonna get rid of all the ox-lovers!" one of the mob shouted, testing the edge of his axe with his thumb, bright blood blossoming in testament to its keenness. "Hey, if they're knife-ears too, so much the better!"

Both Hawke and Merrill bristled at the racist term, and the warrior-noble's longsword scraped free from its scabbard. "So you're not just content to brutalize mages now, you have to enslave the entire city? And it needs seven of you to take on one little girl?"

The templar's next insult died on his lips as he realized who he was addressing. "You're that filthy refugee, the so-called Champion! And you!" he said, pointing his blade at Merrill. "I saw you using magic against the Qunari! Traitors and apostates! Seize-"

Hawke had no idea if the servant girl was _viddathari_ or not, but no one deserved to be treated like that, and her longsword flashed out, propelled with all the strength her aching muscles could manage. The templar's neck vanished in a burst of red, and even as he collapsed, breathing his last, Hawke was onto the next foe, thrusting low. "Merrill, get her clear!"

"Got it!" the Dalish woman replied, slamming the butt of her staff onto the ground. Instantly, long, rope-like vines burst out from beneath the cobblestones and wrapped themselves protectively around the girl, dragging her out of harm's way. Howling, the mob attempted to pursue, but with a word in Elvish, thorn-encrusted brambles emerged to impede their progress.

Grinning despite herself, Hawke pressed the attack. The longsword was not her usual weapon; she had fought as a greatsworder at Ostagar and beyond, and preferred the two-handed weapon's raw power. But time spent with Aveline at the City Guard barracks had rendered her a decent swordswoman, and she knew exactly where to strike to do the most damage. A second thug fell, then a third, while luminous energies channelled from Merrill's staff struck down yet another. "Get her away, Merrill! I'll hold them off!"

"It's alright, da'len, we won't let them hurt you," Merrill spoke, embracing the hysterical girl. A cocoon of stone formed around them, descending into the earth and carrying them away, even as Hawke ripped her sword clear of another fanatic.

Blinding pain erupted at the back of her head, and Hawke tumbled, swearing under her breath as six additional fanatics stormed out from behind them. A slinger was counted among them, sending another stone towards the Champion, this one barely missing her face. Frantically, Hawke parried an incoming axe blow, but the thugs were all around her, limbs screaming with the effort to deflect every strike.

And then she heard the sound of thunder.

Having brought the servant girl safely out of the fighting, Merrill returned to the fray on feet damp with the blood of the thugs, green eyes burning with white heat, face stark and grim in the light of magic. Lightning burst from her fingertips, arcing and bouncing between four of the foe, burning them to ash. Smacking away a fanatic's weapon with a twirl of her staff, the elf pressed her right hand against his head, a sizzling noise contributing into the din. Off-balance, the fanatic had no hope of resisting the vines that encircled his legs, and found himself catapulted through the air, right into the middle of the enemy ranks.

Conjuring a shield of whirling arcane force to cover them both, Merrill grunted in exertion as the hapless thug detonated in a blinding flash of spirit energies, the blast hammering against her defenses. The lucky fanatics were utterly destroyed by the blast, but those less fortunate found themselves infected with the explosive curse. Shrieking, they tried to flee, only to detonate themselves, the magic scorching the sandstone walls of the alley black and flowing around the shield like water. In the space of a few moments, it was over, the fanatics annihilated wholesale, and Hawke rose, unsteadily, gazing upon her lover with abject awe.

"No one will hurt you will I live, ma vhenen," Merrill reassured her, holding her close. "You are a good person, and deserve all the light in the world, and I will protect you as you have protected me. Now come, we should get away from here before more templars show up."

* * *

It was several hours more before Hawke and Merrill managed to reach the Amell family tomb. The servant girl had turned out to be nothing more than another of the Alienage's downtrodden and a devout Andrastian to boot, so the pair escorted her home, Hawke even slipping a few sovereigns into her pocket as they left. The deaths of the templar and his coterie of fanatics would ultimately go unexplained; no witnesses stepped forward to provide evidence of the Champion's involvement, and it was generally assumed that the group had been ambushed by the Mage Underground or surviving Qunari holdouts. The City Guard seemingly had no interest in doing a thorough investigation, and Hawke resolved to pay for Aveline's drinks the next time they met at the Hanged Man. As such, the sun was low in the sky by the time the warrior-noble and the Dalish maleficar stood outside of Leandra's final resting place, her ashes stored along with the rest of the Amell line within the granite bunker.

For a while, neither spoke, Hawke wrestling old wounds and Merrill maintaining a respectful silence, until Hawke finally broke the quiet. "I still miss her, Merrill. I thought it would get easier with time, but it hasn't, and so much has gone wrong since then. The Qunari invasion, the templars stepping in to take control of the city, the nobles ignoring Lowtown's suffering… The city needs to change, Merrill, and it won't change on its own."

"What are you thinking, Hawke?"

"Do you know why I love you?" the human asked, putting an arm about Merrill's waist. "Because you refuse to succumb to the world's darkness, Merrill. You have every excuse to abandon all reason and compassion, and you have not, just as you never stop fighting to make the world a better place. I'm not sure if repairing the Eluvian is the right thing to do, and I'm not sure if the Dalish deserve your loyalty, but you try to help them all the same, and I love you for it. I've been reacting for too long, Merrill, waiting for challenges to come to me instead of facing them head-on, and that needs to change. Kirkwall needs to change, and I'm the one to do it."

"It will be hard, ma vhenen, but I know you can do it, and I will help you however I can."

"Are you sure about that? I'm going to make a lot of enemies, Merrill, and they'd be more than happy to hurt you in the process."

"Do you know why I love you?" Merrill inquired, gently kissing the Champion. "Because you have always used your skill and strength to help others. You're kind and clever and look out for those in need, and you will never allow the helpless to come to harm. I don't know if I'm worthy of your trust, Hawke, but you inspire me to live up to it, and I will stand with you, no matter what happens."

They kissed, and when they pulled away, Hawke was smiling, a beautiful sight. "In that case, shall we remake Kirkwall together then, my love?"

"Yes, that sounds like a wonderful idea."

_I'll make it all worth something, Mother. By your spirit and Merrill's love, I shall._


End file.
